Chapter 6: I, Cheng Miaomiao, Am Back

Chapter 6: I, Cheng Miaomiao, Am Back!

In his sleep, Cheng Miao gradually stopped sensing the sounds around him, his consciousness coming and going. In his groggy haze, he felt as if he were falling into an abyss.

He sprinted, but the endless darkness refused to release him. He crouched down, gasping for air—the darkness stretched on without end, stirring an inexplicable dread in him.

Cheng Miao fought to steady himself, focusing his attention on a distant point ahead.

His nerves slowly settled, but his thoughts grew hazier by the moment. He tried with all his might to stay alert, but his eyelids drooped on their own, and then he lost consciousness entirely.

It wasn't until a shrill rooster crow pierced the air that the rustling sounds around him snapped Cheng Miao awake.

He squinted, wondering if he'd been so worn out lately that his mind was playing tricks on him—this dream had gone on way too long.

If it weren't for that rooster crow, he might never have woken up.

Wait—Cheng Miao suddenly snapped to full alertness. Where would a rooster come from in the dormitory?

He scrambled upright in one swift motion, only to realize this was nowhere near his dorm.

By the dim yellow light, he surveyed his surroundings. A full set of that quintessential 80s pink furniture, paired with light green flooring—an aesthetic that future generations would find baffling, yet was all the rage in this era.

Cheng Miao studied the neatly pasted wall calendars and ran his hand over the toasty mattress beneath him, hardly able to believe his eyes. Then a figure pushed the door open and walked in.

"Miaomiao, why are you awake already? Did Mommy wake you?" a familiar female voice sounded. The woman's rough hands tucked him right back under the covers.

"It's freezing out there—keep yourself covered up."

At that moment, Cheng Miao looked at his mother, who was so much younger, then glanced down at his own small hands. He finally convinced himself he had to still be dreaming.

Beneath him was the kind of heated brick bed you only find up north. When he'd endured his first winter in the south, God, how he'd missed that warm, cozy bed back home.

At least he could enjoy it again in his dream. With his mother's gentle pats, sleepiness crept back over him bit by bit.

In that hazy space between sleep and waking, he heard, "Miaomiao, Mommy's going to sell vegetables. You go back to sleep!"

Cheng Miao closed his eyes, feeling at ease.

He slept soundly and deeply, and by the time he woke, it was already broad daylight.

Cheng Miao instinctively sat up and scanned his surroundings first—still the same familiar furniture. How long was this dream going to last?

He yanked the curtains open with a swish, and a flood of light poured in. Outside, the light was almost blinding—a blanket of white snow covered the whole yard, with snowflakes still drifting down in a lazy flurry.

Though it was winter, the room was so warm it had him breaking a sweat. Cheng Miao sat there, dazed. Could something this real really be a dream?

He pinched his thigh and felt absolutely nothing. So it really was a dream, huh?

As he sat there spacing out, a grumbling voice came through as the door swung open: "You lazy little brat! Sleep any longer and you'll turn into a pig! Get up already!"

Cheng Miao's heart tightened instinctively at the sound. This woman was basically the nightmare of his childhood.

When he was little, his parents were out earning money before dawn, and his grandparents lived out in the countryside, so there was no one to look after him. They'd specially asked the old lady next door to wake him up and make him breakfast, paying her by the month.

The old lady grumbled that the pay was too little, but figured even a fly's leg was still a scrap of meat, so she agreed with a smile on the surface—yet behind their backs, she took her frustrations out on little Cheng Miao. She'd scold him constantly, and when truly angry, she'd land a few sharp slaps on his tender bottom. It hurt badly.

But the marks would fade within a few days, which meant Cheng Miao never had evidence to expose her.

Little Cheng Miao had been a coward back then. Under her threats and intimidation, he'd endured a full three years, only escaping her clutches when his family moved away.

Growing up, every time Cheng Miao recalled those years, he couldn't help but gnash his teeth in hatred. Back then, he'd been a spineless pushover who swallowed his pride.

And now was exactly his moment to hold his head high. Cheng Miao glared indignantly at the old woman as she walked in, standing on the bed platform and planting his hands on his hips as he shouted down at her: "Ha, you old witch! I, Cheng Miao, am not going to put up with you anymore starting today! If you keep talking like that, I'll beat you up!" With that, he waved his little fists.

The woman stared at him in utter disbelief, the chrysanthemum-like wrinkles on her aged face trembling. Though her figure was hunched, she moved with surprising agility—a quick dodge and she had Cheng Miao in her grip.

Cheng Miao was grabbed and firmly pinned over the edge of the bed platform. His loose cotton pants were yanked down, and under that bark-like rough palm, his tender bottom let out its first crisp smack.

The sharp sting on his rear left Cheng Miao stunned. Wasn't this a dream? Why didn't pinching himself hurt? He suddenly realized this might not be a dream—it was just that the winter cotton pants were too thick.

Before he could even think about why he'd returned to childhood, the searing pain drove his overactive tear ducts to produce a stream of tears. He sobbed, "I'm telling my mom! You're a bad person!"

At that, the slaps grew even crisper. Cheng Miao struggled desperately, but his strength was no match—he was utterly dominated.

"Little runt! You haven't even grown your feathers and you want to hit me? Do you dare do it again?"

The impending slap filled Cheng Miao with even more grief and fury. He suddenly realized that young him had fought back before too—but the gap in strength was too great, so he'd ultimately had to endure.

A wise man doesn't court danger. He kept hiccupping through his sobs and whimpered quietly, "No... I don't dare anymore!"

He begged for mercy several more times before the slaps gradually stopped.

Finally free from the beating, Cheng Miao got dressed, obediently downed a big bowl of awful-tasting porridge, and was sent off to school. Along the way, as a third-grader, he stayed as quiet as a mouse, not daring to defy anyone.

It wasn't until he sat down at his desk that Cheng Miao felt a sense of reality. He rested his chin on the desk. So what exactly was going on? Why had he returned to childhood? Was this really not a dream?

Cheng Miao felt troubled. This seemed to have no leads at all. Did he have to grow up all over again?

He rubbed his still-sore bottom. He'd have to endure another round of spankings, study again, take the college entrance exam again—honestly, he didn't want to relive those hard times.

But then he reconsidered: with his current intelligence, he could skip grades in elementary and middle school, and maybe skip a bit in high school too. Looking at it from another angle, maybe he'd become the legendary child prodigy who gets into university at twelve.

Cheng Miao suddenly felt a surge of anticipation, lost in fantasies, completely unaware that the boy at the desk behind him had been staring at him for a long time.

When Cheng Miao had first walked into the classroom, his eyes were red and swollen, with glistening moisture in them—clearly he'd just been crying, looking utterly wronged.

After sitting down, his expression shifted from confusion to indignation, and finally to a silly grin. Such rapid changes on a child's face looked quite bizarre.

From the moment Cheng Miao walked through the door, Lu Yu could be certain that this person was his roommate. Those identical peach-blossom eyes, even the exact same wronged expression—he was a miniature version of Cheng Miao.

But seeing his strange expressions, Lu Yu began to wonder—had Cheng Miao been a bit slow as a kid?